


Begin Again

by twopinkcarnations



Series: Fragments [1]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Feelings Realization, Height Kink, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinkcarnations/pseuds/twopinkcarnations
Summary: Written for The Good Place's Secret Santa Exchange!Michael plays with Eleanor by seducing her then rebooting her hundreds of times.





	1. Attempt #11: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ehlena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehlena/gifts).



> My person requested:  
> \--Michael/Eleanor with romance & angst genres  
> \--Michael playing with Eleanor by seducing her then rebooting her hundreds time  
> \--Michael making fun of her because she's little  
> \--In-character romance  
> \--Michael isn't very nice  
> \--Dubious consent, but no rape
> 
> I got them all!

Michael thinks he’s got it figured out now. He’s determined not to let these humans—Eleanor especially—get the better of him. In eleven iterations, it had become clear to him that she was going to be the most difficult of the four to deal with. Once she had Chidi on her side, the rest of his plans fell apart.

It seemed there was only one thing to do: he was going to have trick Eleanor into falling for himself instead.

“Janet? Can you get me the file on Eleanor Shellstrop’s love life, please?”

“Here you go!” she says, dropping a massive, color coded binder onto his desk.

“Thank you, Janet.”

Michael sighs and opens to page one.


	2. Attempt #47: The Sob Story

Over thirty-six attempts, Michael gathers as much information as he can about Eleanor’s dating habits. Who she dated, for how long, sexual proclivities, and the like. You name it, he was ready to exploit it. Anything to keep her from getting too close to Chidi…or Tahani, for that matter. That was something he _definitely_ wanted to explore.

Michael takes a deep breath. Everything was going to go just fine. It said so on the wall, for badness' sake! He stands up, self-consciously straightens his bow tie, and opens his office door.

“Eleanor, please come in and have a seat.”

She smiles politely and follows his direction.

“Eleanor, this is the Good Place. My name is Michael, and I’ll be here to guide you on your journey through the afterlife.”

Eleanor blinks in surprise.

“Wow, so I’m actually dead, huh?”

“Unfortunately so. My sympathies to you.”

“Aw, hey, you know, it wasn’t your fault…Was it?”

“No, no, certainly not. I’m just your spiritual camp counselor, so to speak. I’m here to answer any questions you may have and make you comfortable in this next phase of your existence.”

Eleanor lets out a huge breath.

“This is like, _a lot_ to take in. I mean, I don’t even know how I died…”

Michael is prepared for this. Frankly, he was getting rather tired of repeating the same grocery store/boner pill truck story. In Attempts 3-36, he realized that Eleanor was not one to express any real emotion. And she always seemed little bothered about being run over. Sure, she would admit to being embarrassed about it, but if he wanted her to be emotionally dependent on him from the start, he was going to have to make her cry.

“Oh, I don’t know if you want to hear about that. It’s pretty gruesome.”

She leans forward in her seat in morbid interest.

“Well, now you _have_ to tell me! Did I save a puppy from a burning building or something?”

The artfully crafted story that Michael tells her is one that, were he a living human, would be Oscar-worthy. At least, according to an analysis Janet ran for him that compared Oscar-winning monologues to the number of people who were crying in the movie theater. He had, after all, wanted to ensure he had gotten it just right.

At the end of it, Eleanor is sobbing.

“Oh, honey, see, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to spare you the details.

He gets up from his chair and kneels down next to her. Michael pulls out his handkerchief, which she gratefully takes.

“And the whole building—” She hiccups. “—just collapsed?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, frowning in faux sympathy. Michael puts his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve had a rough day. Why don’t I take you to your new home.”

Lips in a pout, she nods and stands. Tears slither down her cheeks, and he restrains himself from tasting them. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Michael skips his usual grand tour this time, as Eleanor wouldn’t stop asking him questions about the story of her death and the others involved in it.

“And I tried to stop the gunman?”

“Yes, you did.”

Michael was grateful not to have to extol the virtues of frozen yogurt again. The story was, at the very least, more entertaining than that.

With Eleanor engrossed, the other demons keep their distance. Vicky winks at him when they walk by and sees he has an arm around Eleanor’s shoulder. By the time they reach her house, Eleanor is quiet. Whether from shock or exhaustion, Michael doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Either way, he is sure she won’t want to be left alone in her current state.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

“You…Would you mind staying with me? Just for a little while? I’m definitely totally fine now, but—”

“Of course I will.”

Michael smiles. That had worked out even better than he was expecting it to.

“Thank you,” she says, looking grateful and relieved.

He reaches out and tucks a strand of her hair back into place. He hears her breath catch. She licks her lips, and he can practically see the wheels turning in her head.

“Ummm, I’m kind of tired. Do you know where the bedroom is?”

There’s the subtlest hint of suggestion in her words, almost as though _she_ wanted _him_ to take the hint. He’ll take it.

“It’s right this way,” he says.


	3. Attempt #139: Solution

“Okay,” Michael says into the tape recorder. “So the sob story plan was a bust. Eventually Eleanor gets tired of pity sex and turns to Chidi to truly overcome her insecurities…”

It was a bitter pill, but he could take it. He tells himself he won’t start worrying until Shawn got involved. Until then, it was back to the drawing board. It was high time to delve into a new weakness. And perhaps the simplest solution was the best solution. And what better solution was there to anyone's problems than alcohol?

“Thirsty?” Michael asks.

Eleanor puts down her now-empty glass and side-eyes him.

“Unless you’ve brought me a refill, I don’t need any shirt from you.”

He hands her a fresh glass of champagne, which she takes from him without thanks.

“I couldn’t help but notice your lovers’ quarrel with Chidi.”

She turns away from the crowd to face him properly, leaning against the wall. Her black cocktail dress swishes against her knees, and her eyes burn bright with anger.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Chidi is _not_ my lover.”

“Oh?”

His eyebrow quirks, and Eleanor rolls her eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to hit on me right now.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“Come on, man. You think I don’t know when some old dude is trying to get into my pants?” she snorts.

Michael moves in closer to her, as if he were sharing a secret with her.

“If I was trying to get into your pants, you’d know,” Michael says.

As he’d hoped, Eleanor looks intrigued.

“Alright, then let’s see these amazing movies.”

Michael puts his arm out and braces his hand against the wall over her shoulder. His height is to his advantage, and he uses it to shield her from view from the rest of the party. Eleanor, he knows, has a height complex, and he was willing to bet she’d already soaked her panties.

“What, so you think that just because you’re taller than me that I’m gonna—”

He takes a calculated risk and kisses her soundly. She surges up onto her tiptoes in her heels to kiss him back. He pulls away from her with a lewd, wet sound and allows himself to look smug.

“Ummm,” Eleanor says, eyes closing briefly as she regained her composure. “I’m pretty sure Tahani has about 600 available guestrooms in here.”

Michael smirks in triumph.

~*~*~*~*~*

Michael brings her to a guestroom on the fifth floor. It’s just as opulent as any of the others, with gold trim, marble counters, and diamond-encrusted everything.

He picks her up bodily by the backs of her knees, and she squeaks at suddenly being lifted up his full height.

“You’re so small,” Michael says. “Like a child.”

Her eyes search his face.

“Is that your thing?” she asks. She runs her nose down his cheek before licking his neck. “You want me to call you daddy?”

Michael considers this. Perhaps now would be a good time to bring up her childhood trauma.

“Maybe,” he says, walking them over to the bed.

He drops her onto the bed, where she bounces once before sinking into the downy mattress feathers. She hungrily watches him strip off his jacket and suspenders before sitting up to undo the zipper on the back of her dress, but she struggles.

“Allow me,” he says.

He unzips her slowly, letting his fingers trail down her naked back as her spine and shoulder blades were revealed to him. There’s an animal instinct inside him that makes him want to rend her flesh from her bone, but he resists. Now was not the time for that. He had all of eternity, after all.


	4. Attempt #212: Natural Habitat

He still had a lot of ideas to test out if this attempt should fail too. At this point, it was probably best to view it as a game. Or perhaps an anthropological study. There was no use in letting each carefully crafted plan go to waste. And he has to credit Janet for the chance she presents him the middle of #212.

“She kept saying that she didn’t belong here. I assured her that she did because everyone in the Good Place deserves to be here, but she wouldn’t listen. She just kept saying she wanted to talk to you. I’m worried about her. She asked me to bring her a whole crate of rosé."

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll go over there right now.”

~*~*~*~*~*

  
He knocks on her front door and waits for her to answer it with his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating how he could capitalize on her insecurities around being in the Good Place. Eleanor opens the door, and all his thoughts fly out the window.

“Hey! Mikey-Mike! Come on in!”

She turns her back on him, and he watches her walk from the front door to her kitchen. She was wearing only her bra and panties, and it makes his mouth water. Half-drunk, half-clothed, an emotional wreck; he guesses this is how humans feel when they win the lottery or get bingo.

“Janet said you wanted to see me?” he says once he had his composure back.

He takes the liberty of sitting down at her kitchen table.

“Yeah, so I got this note saying I don’t belong here, and it freaked me the fork out. And I haven’t slept in a while, so I asked Janet for some wine, and damn, this stuff is _good!_ ”

She takes another swig from the bottle, and her bra strap falls off her shoulder.

“Oh,” she says, fixing her strap. “I get super-hot and flushed when I drink, and I live alone, so I thought, what the heck, right? You don’t mind, do you?”

Michael shakes his head no. He’s a little surprised she’s being so forthright about the note he’d secretly sent her, but that was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“I promise that you do belong here,” he says.

She puts the bottle down and gives him a drunken smile.

“You really mean that? You’re so forking nice to me, and like, no one was like that for me on earth, you know?”

He does. She’s absolutely right. Then again, he would add that she didn’t do anything to earn any extra affection, but now was not the time to bring that up. Not when he was this close to getting what he wanted from her.

“It’s true, Eleanor. You were especially picked to be here. Just like everyone else. It’s an exclusive club.”

She pushes herself off the counter she was leaning against and saunters over to him. Before Michael can react, she’s throwing a leg over his lap and making herself comfortable. His hands go to her hips to steady her and pull her in close. Her tiny feet barely scrape the floor as her legs dangle over either side of him.

“I owe you a thank you,” she murmurs.

“What did you have in mind?”


	5. Attempt #400: Dead on Arrival

Obviously it didn’t do any good to dwell on one’s failures. Sure, it was always good to learn from your mistakes, but sitting in your office for hours and hours, brooding over how it was only a matter of time before everyone realized what a fraud you were was unhealthy. Or at least unproductive. Michael sits up straight and rubs his hands together.

“Fresh start!” he says to himself. “New day, new plan. Now’s the time to _really_ stick it to them.”

He stands and paces his office.

“I’m going to go out there, and be the best demon I can be. I belong here.”

He stops pacing and clenches his hands at his sides.

“I belong here.”

He was being silly. He was going to be _fine_ , just fine. So maybe setting up arguments with Chidi and getting her drunk and crafting sob stories didn’t work. This time, he had decided to go big or go home. Tahani wasn’t the only one who could throw a party. And, with unlimited means at his disposal, Michael thinks everything will turn out as planned.

~*~*~*~*~*

“Now, I know being dead has been weighing on you lately, so I decided to put together a little surprise: a movie premier of the uncut footage of all your favorite Hallmark movies!”

“Michael, you don’t have to do that. Just let me wallow in my misery, okay? I’m used to it. I’ll be fine in like, three weeks,

“What if I told you all your favorite dead celebrities will be there?”

Eleanor cracks a smile, and he knows he’s got her right where he wants her. She was already miserable, and now she would be forced to sit through hours of awful movies. Had Eleanor already forgotten that she only watched those movies when drunk on red wine after quitting her job-of-the-month?

“Just think of it,” he says, reeling her in. “You, in a gown of your choice on a red carpet with Elizabeth Taylor.”

“She _is_  my drama idol…”

Michael clasps his hands about her shoulders and smiles.

“You won’t be disappointed! I promise, this night is all for your own enjoyment.”

“Thanks, Michael. Maybe being dead isn’t so terrible after all.”

 “That’s my girl. Now why don’t you and Tahani pick out something fabulous to wear. I’m sure there are a few stars she’ll want to doll up for as well.”

Michael watches her scurry off to her new friend/rival’s home. They were surely going to bicker about whose dress was prettier and which one of them would meet the most stars. And Michael was sure Tahani would spend the whole night critiquing his party planning skills, which would annoy Eleanor and further ruin her evening. He hardly had to do any of the torturing himself this time!

It was the petty little things that brought the most joy to his heart.

Later, he arranges for a limo to pick her up at her house so she can arrive in style. He even puts on a tuxedo, just to complete the picture. He rings her doorbell, and she exits alone. It wasn’t quite according to plan, but he could work with it.

“Where’s Tahani?”

“Tahani is a bench,” she says, storming past him and climbing into the limo.

Michael purses his lips. She hadn’t even thanked him for providing her with a luxury ride for the evening, the selfish cow. He fixes his bow tie. Well, he wasn’t going to let that ruin <i>his</i> evening. In fact, now that he had her alone, it opened up a whole new world of possibilities. He climbs into the back seat after he and shuts the door.

“Eleanor, I—”

“Thirsty?” Eleanor asks, shoving a glass of Champagne into his hand, and Michael gets deja vu.

He accepts it from her and takes a sip. The liquid evaporates on his tongue. Sometimes he forgets that she doesn’t know who or what he is and would thus have no way of knowing he could not drink anything.

“Janet, why don’t you take the long way to the theater? I think Eleanor and I have some things we need to discuss.”

“No problem!” Janet says from the driver’s seat.

“And put the partition while you’re at it.”

She presses a button, and then they are completely alone. Janet starts the car.

“What happened with Tahani?” he asks.

“Oh the usual bullshirt. Telling me she already knows everyone there. How she can’t wait to see Amy Winehouse again. How I’ll embarrass myself in front of everyone if I don’t take her etiquette lessons seriously.”

Eleanor takes a gulp before continuing.

“Like she’s so forking special or something.”

Michael frowns in sympathy as he angles his body towards her. He rubs her arm with his thumb.

“I’m sorry that happened. I know you were looking forward to bonding with her tonight.”

She puts her empty glass down.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really care.”

“Maybe you’ll see her there, and she’ll apologize.”

Eleanor laughs.

“I doubt it,” she says. “I mean, what does she have to apologize for? She’s totally right. I’m an embarrassing failure.”

“Eleanor,” Michael tsks. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

She doesn’t say anything. He watches her stare at the carpeted floor, and her neatly styled hair hangs in front of her face. Michael sees an opportunity.

Michael reaches out a hand and gently tucks her hair back behind her ear. He lets his fingertips graze the shell of her ear as he does so, and goosebumps erupt down her arms.

“Michael?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I should keep my hands to myself. I just feel like I’ve known you forever, you know?”

She gives a half-laugh of disbelief.

“I mean, we’re going to be stuck together for eternity. We might as well keep things interesting, right?” she says.

Michael scoots in closer to her in the backseat, trapping her against the seat and the door.

“Why don’t we get to know each other better,” he suggests.

She doesn’t say anything, and Michael feels his opportunity slipping away. Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit._

“But you’re like, old. I mean, does your duck even still work? Wow, I can’t even say ‘duck’ here. Heaven has some weird censorship issues.”

Michael rolls his eyes at the insult and bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something awful to her.

“It works just fine.”

For a minute, she looks like she’s considering it. Her face scrunches at she scrutinizes him. Then she laughs, shakes her head, and waves her hand in front of her face.

“No. No, that would be so weird! You’re like a guardian angel or something. And I’m just a human, and just. No. Sorry. I’m super flattered.”

She snorts with laughter, and Michael decides to call this one DOA.


	6. Attempt #515: Truce

"Janet, will you tell Eleanor to come in? I honestly just don't see a point to getting up for this one."

"Okay!"

Michael hits pause on his tape recording of the day when Eleanor walks into his office and sits down.

"Ummm, hi? Who was that lady, and where did she go?"

Eleanor looks around the office. Michael rolls his eyes.

“Alright, let’s cut to the chase. These reboots are getting less and less fun. Every time, it’s the same bunch of bull. Don’t you ever get tired of saying the same thing over and over again?” Michael asks.

Eleanor stares at him, stunned into silence.

"Okay, a few questions. Let's rapid fire these, okay? Who are you, where are we, and why am I here?"

“Y’know, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. It’s predictable. We've met literally hundreds of times already, Eleanor.”

“We’ve…met before?”

“This is the 515th time, actually.”

“H-how is that even possible?” she asks.

Michael laughs.

“Oh, Eleanor, you small, simple human. You're dead. This is the Bad Place. You’re in Hell, honey. And you’re stuck me for eternity. I’m Michael, by the way. I keep forgetting that you don’t know that yet.”

He hold out a hand for her to shake, and Eleanor jumps out of her seat.

“You're crazy, and I don’t have to listen to you. I'm calling the police when I get out of here.”

He waits for her to reach the door before he says, “And how will you do that? You don't even _have_ a phone. You’ll just be walking into the hands of someone worse. Trust me, sweatheart. I’m the literal lesser of the two evils. The devil you know. And all those other human clichés.”

He stops talking long enough to pour himself a drink. And his words seem to give her pause. Eleanor turns back around. Michael holds up his glass to her, and the ice inside clinks together. Eleanor cautiously approaches him and sits back down.

“You want one of these? I think you could use it.”

“Yeah, why not?” she says.

He grabs her a glass with ice and pours.

“So what are you gonna do to me?” she asks.

He hands her her drink.

“Is this spiked?” she asks before he can even answer her first question.

“Not this time,” he says.

She takes a sip. And, seeing that it didn’t taste odd, takes a longer sip.

“But to answer your first question,” Michael continues, “I’m not going to do anything to you. Frankly, I'm exhausted. I’m giving us all a break before plowing on to number 516. So, cheers to small mercies.”

He holds up his glass to her, and she taps her glass to his in bewilderment. She quietly sips her drink.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly as neither one of them say or do anything except sit and drink.

“Are we just gonna sit here in awkward silence, or…?”

Michael's eyes flick up to hers. He had been lost in thought, but she made a good point. There wasn't any reason they couldn't talk. Really, what harm could it do when he had already fucked everything up for the 515th time?

“Okay, let's play a little game. You can ask me three questions, and I’ll answer all of them completely honestly.”

“That’s a lot of pressure, man. And this is a lot to forking process. Fork. Forking. Wait. I can’t say fork here?”

Michael claps his hands together twice in rapid succession.

“There, now you can. The swear filter is off.”

“Fuck. Fucking. Fucker fuck fucking fuck fucker fuck.”

Michael rolls his eyes.

“You have two questions left,” Michael says.

“Aw, come on! That’s not fucking fair! That wasn’t a real question.”

Michael crosses his arms.

“Fine, Mr. Literal. Is Elvis really dead?” she asks, taking another drink of a glass that refilled itself.

“No.”

She spits out her mouthful in wide spray that lands all over his pristine desk. Disgusting.

“Are you fucking kidd—!?”

“Ah, ah, ah” Michael interrupts, holding up his hand. “Choose your next words carefully. You only have one more question before we meet again.”

Eleanor purses her lips and shakes her finger at him.

“You don't even _know_ how much this is torturing me! I can't believe I'm not allowed to ask you where Elvis is!”

Michael smiles and leans forward conspiratorially.

“Getting under your skin is my specialty. Suffice it to say for your remaining moments here that he is safe and sound on an island with Tupac and Jimmy Hoffa.”

Eleanor holds his gaze with interest, a million questions bubbling under her tongue. He’s amused by her indecision, especially when he sees something flash in her eyes. He almost regrets only giving her three questions.

“Okay, I know what my last question will be,” she says smugly.

“Shoot.”

“Can it be a two parter?”

Interested piqued, he says, “I’ll allow it.”

“Have you and I ever done it, and how awesome was I?”

Michael laughs.

“Yes,” he says, “and fairly awesome, I think, would be a reasonable assessment.”

“Consensually?” she asks.

“That would be a fourth question.”

“Oh come on.”

“As consensual as sex can be with an all-powerful being with the power to wipe your memories and the knowledge of all your sexual preferences, yes. It was consensual.”

She finishes off the rest of her drink.

“Wow. Now what happens?” she asks.

"Now," Michael says. "We begin again."


	7. Attempt #623: Closer than You Think

Michael flips through his notes. He had come up with so many ideas centered on Eleanor getting tipsy or drunk that he knew at least one of them had to have the potential to be the golden plan that would get him out of this never-ending cycle of reboots.

As he nears the end of his list of things to try—there were so many cross-outs and arrows and notes in the margins that it was hard to keep track—Michael contemplates going back to an oldie. He could always go back to trying to force Eleanor and Tahani into making each other miserable. Attempt #218 had failed, sure, but that was back when he was an amateur. He had had enough interactions with the both of them now to know better.

And damn it, he had nothing to lose!

~*~*~*~*~*

Worried that being around them for too long would ruin his plans, Michael quickly introduces the women and quickly exits. He had been too hands-on the last few times he’d paired them together. He had gotten in the way and muddied things up for himself. Not again.

He watches them from afar and has Janet doing some spying for him instead.

“What did they do today?” he asks. “Any fighting? Yelling? Breaking things?”

“Nope!” Janet says. “Today they took a picnic to the park, and Tahani made Eleanor a flower crown. Then they saw me and made one for me too!”

She holds a crown of thornless roses out in front of her before placing it on her head.

“Tahani found ones that match my outfit!”

Michael frowns, but he doesn’t let it worry him. It had only been a week. There was plenty of time for everything to go wrong.

~*~*~*~*

Week after week, Michael calls for Janet, asks her for an update, and gets an answer he doesn’t want to hear:

_Today they picked out a new china pattern!_

_Today, Eleanor showed Tahani how to make s’mores on a stove!_

_Today they tried every flavor of frozen yogurt!_

_Today, Tahani taught Eleanor how to walk straight with a book balance on her head…Like this!_

_Today they went to Chidi’s house and read books!_

_Today, Eleanor made Tahani breakfast in bed!_

“Today, they—”

“That’s okay, Janet. I don’t want to hear it right now,” Michael says, grimacing.

How were they possibly getting along so well? There was no explanation for it. Eleanor was crass and common. Tahani was elegant and stuck-up. It was a total anomaly. He needed more information than Janet was giving him.

“Janet?”

“Hello!”

“Janet, does anything seem odd about the way Eleanor and Tahani interact?”

Janet frowns and puts a finger to her chin.

“Define odd,” she says.

“Odd, weird, abnormal.”

Janet rolls her eyes.

“Michael, I understand the definition of the word ‘odd’ in every language that has ever existed. What I’m trying to figure out is what you personally would consider odd behavior.”

Michael sighs.

“Do they act in one way when they are alone together and then act another when they are together with other people?”

“Then, yes,” Janet says. “They are odd.”

Michael leans forward. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

“How?”

“Well, I’m not sure I should tell you. I don’t think humans like it when you tell other people about their private business.”

“Damn it, Janet! You’re no use to me as a spy if you don’t tell me what you know.”

“All I’ll say is that they are incredibly close.”

“They think they’re soulmates, Janet. That’s not odd.”

“ _Very_ close,” Janet says.

Michael gives her a look.

“Let’s cut to the chase here,” he says. “How close is very close?”

“As close as Eleanor’s mouth is to Tahani’s right now. But who knows how close they've gotten since I left to come here. I wonder if they're planning on trying that upside down thing again...”

Michael takes a deep breath and takes his glasses off. He puts his elbows on his desk and digs his palms into his eyes.

“Thank you, Janet.”

“No problem!”


	8. Attempt #801: Penultimate

Eleanor rests her head on his shoulder, and Michael knows that he’s been in this attempt for too long. He’s let himself get too close. Figuratively and literally. She swallows, and there’s so little space between them that he feels it travel from her delicate throat and into her chest. Her rib cage press against him for a fraction of a second as a result.

“I'm glad I get to be in the Good Place with you."

Eleanor says it so quietly that he almost thinks he imagined it. But then she shifts subtly in his arms, and he knows he didn't. Michael doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything. He slips his hand lower down her back until it's right at her waist. She doesn’t stop him. There's no reluctance, no fight, no moue of distaste. He had over-corrected this time.

Music is playing, but he doesn’t know the name of the song, nor does he care. He was stuck at yet another one of Tahani’s parties, but this time things feel different. They keep swaying together as yet another one of his plans fell apart around his ears.

“I need to tell you something, Eleanor.”

She picks her head up off his shoulder, confused. What was she seeing in his face? What could she see that gave him away every time that he was critically blind to seeing in himself?

“What?” she asks.

It's pointless to explain everything to her again. Better to just get through the song and start good old eight-hundred-and-two.

“Never mind,” he says, pulling her close to him before she could slip away in search of her real soulmate. “It’s nothing.”

He wasn’t supposed to get attached, but here he was, squeezing her tightly.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” Eleanor asks. "And you're, what? Suddenly too shy to try?"

In every reboot, he is reminded how good she is at reading people. At reading him.

“I do,” he breathes into her ear.

She shivers.

“I’d let you, you know.”

His lips trail over her cheek, stopping just before reaching her mouth. Silently, she begs him to keep going. When he doesn't, she tries again.

“Or maybe you want something else?”

Michael pulls back slightly to look at her better.

“What did you have in mind?”

He isn’t going to take her up on her offer, this time, but his curiosity has been piqued.

"Remember when we did that one thing on your birthday that you really liked?"

Eleanor smiles at him after she finishes her thought, and Michael feels his dress pants tighten.

“You tease.”

She laughs again, louder.

He pulls her in by her upper arm; she gasps in surprise.

“I want to kiss you until you can't breathe.”

He demonstrates with a ferocity that leaves her breathless.

“And then I want to press you up against the nearest dark corner to fuck you. I’d do it for as long as you’d let me. Maybe even longer.”

The dark tone of his voice sinks into her very skin, and goosebumps erupt down her arms.

"Motherforker,” she breathes. " _Yes_."

The combination of the champagne and the music and Eleanor's eagerness makes it harder to remember why he was supposed to be snapping his fingers right now. After all, the music _had_ stopped. His lips find her neck and latch on, kissing and suckling at her skin from her ear to her neckline. She sighs deeply.

“You really wanna do this where everyone can see us?”

“Don’t you?” Michael asks.

Before she can answer, he stops her. This charade couldn't last. Vicky or one of the others would surely go to Shawn, if they hadn't already. _He_ was the architect. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be manipulating her and her friends. Michael pulls her arms off from where they were wrapped around his neck.

“This isn’t right,” he says. "This. This can't happen."

She looks devastated.

“Michael, what are you talking about? You can't just say something like that to me and not expect me too--Wait.”

She blinks and her jaw drops.

Never again, he tells himself.

"Ohhh," she says. " _This_ is the Bad Place!"

_**Snap!** _


End file.
